Interrupted Requiem
by Alchemical Angel
Summary: Royai. The homunculi's plot to get Roy to open the gate. Sort of a death fic. SPOILERS: If you don't know who Pride is in the manga, DON'T READ.
1. Chapter 1

_((Hello again and welcome to my second multi-chaptered fic. This contains spoilers of everything past Chapter 70 of the manga. I hope you enjoy it.))_

_**Disclaimer: **_I do not own FMA or any of its characters. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fan fiction, now would I?

Homunculi had their own relationships, just as humans did. Gluttony loved Lust, which could be explained easily through a study of the human nature. Some humans themselves were often gluttonous and driven by the force of lust. The two were sister-sins in the human heart. It made sense, then, that Gluttony and Lust were as they had been- before Lust had died, of course.

So too it was with Wrath and Pride, though not in the same sense as Lust and Gluttony. Wrath, had he been human- not like he pined after humanity like Lust had- would have happily accepted Pride as a real son. Among the homunculi, like it was in a human's heart, a slighted pride fueled a vengeful wrath. In the homunculi's case- Pride justified Wrath.

Therefore it was no real mystery that Wrath listened to Pride's plan, and had not thought to consult Envy. They worked best together, as a real father and son would, and anyone else wasn't really needed. Pride's plan concerned Roy Mustang. The colonel was as spirited as ever, since he now had lost Havoc, one of his few loyal pawns. Still the colonel fought against them, even when they stole all his pawns away. This troubled the homunculi's father. The transmutation circle was in place, and they had three human sacrifices to choose from. Well, of the three, the only ones considered were Fullmetal and Flame. Alphonse was a risk. Edward's brother wasn't truly human in the physical sense, and the homunculi couldn't fathom what might happen should he attempt to open the gate. It was safer to force Ed or Roy into it.

But Pride had a plan to break the Mustang's spirit. It had occurred to the child while he was being tutored, or intellectually tortured, by the oaf hired to keep up appearances. The tutor just didn't understand that Pride could sleep through the classes and still understand what he was talking about. Selim Bradley was, after all, more than just a child- if he was a child at all. He was the first born of the homunculi. He was undoubtedly more intelligent than the human who "tutored" him. The lesson that gave birth to Selim's plan was on the classic _Romeo and Juliet_. It was the masquerade scene that had first struck a chord within him- his "father" was sponsoring an autumn gala with the theme of a masquerade. This coincidence only led the child to draw parallelisms from the work and reality. Who were the two fated lovers? Selim laughed when he thought of this. The colonel was the target, and it was quite obvious who had his heart.

He knew how they both died in the end of the play. Even in Amestris, _Romeo and Juliet _was a famous story. Juliet was put into a deep sleep, and Romeo committed suicide when he learned Juliet had "died". The work was the prime example of human idiocy.

Play in hand, he ran to his "father", the furher, and with a childish joy of his own genius told Wrath of his scheme. Lt. Hawkeye worked under Bradley now, it would be easy enough to capture her, and her "death" would certainly break Roy. It was rather pathetic how much he depended on that woman. They would manipulate him to their purposes- with her death, he wouldn't have anything left to fight for- and then leave him to dispose of himself as he wished. They could even give him some poison. They'd get the gate open, and even destroy one of the most irritating humans in the most painful way possible. Oh, what fun this would be.

_((The next chapter is more entertaining, I promise. Feel free to drop a review any time.))_


	2. Chapter 2

_((Yay! Chapter 2! Riza's slightly OOC, I think, but it was hard for me to determine exactly how she would react in this situation. Any input's appreciated.)) _

Finally, the "masquerade" took place. It was rather depressing for Roy, who wouldn't enjoy the company of anyone he really knew this year. Falman, Fuery, and Breda were all in different parts of the country, and he couldn't spend as much time with Riza, since she was no longer his chauffer or his escort. The only good thing he could count on was getting to see her.

This masquerade was incredibly different from the social events of previous years, not only because of who was gone, but also because those who came were changed. Since Hawkeye had become Bradley's hostage, she and her former commanding officer were not the same. He noticed this as he stepped from his car in his dress uniform- the costume had been optional. He could see past the ornate oak and gold doors of the Central Ballroom that were flung open for the marauding military personnel. She was standing there, in a corset-dress of dark reddish maroon, next to the little tuxedoed Selim Bradley as he shook hands with the guests. Bradley probably put the two there on purpose, taunting Mustang with his proof of humanity- which was the flaw in Mustang's argument that the Furher was a homunculus, and his prize- the very person that kept Mustang in check.

As Roy approached, he noticed that Riza looked paler than usual and seemed incredibly tired. Her face was partially hidden by a mask in the dusky rose color that her gown had, but he could still see, when she turned towards him, those two red-brown eyes that were filled with worry. His normally stoic lieutenant was openly disconcerted. What the hell had that monster done to her?

He couldn't remember what he said to her, probably some vague pleasantry that meant nothing to either of them. All he knew was that he couldn't say exactly what he wanted to, not in front of the homunculus spawn. He would have to wait until later that night, when she wasn't babysitting a monster, or when he wasn't being watched by one.

The only opportunity to do so was presented later that evening, when he asked her to dance. She was the same Hawkeye, that was certain, but the scenario was strangely different. She was without that veil of duty, and he had cast away those loving lies he told other women so frequently. That worry and fatigue seemed to have intensified since he had greeted her.

"What's wrong?" he asked, staring straight into her eyes.

"You mean, other than the fact that I'm being used against you?" Her face was lifted towards his, but her eyes were constantly scanning the shifting throng of dancers around them, searching. At least she had dropped "sir". That would have made the conversation painful for the both of them.

"Yes. Besides that." He was more irritated. She knew there was only so much time they could dance together before they'd become conspicuous to the others.

"I've received some new transfer orders. I'm returning to Ishbal in nine days," her worry leaked into her voice.

He stopped dancing, and she had to pull him back into motion again. "For how long?!"

"Two weeks. I'm not sure why. The whole request is rather sketchy. But I couldn't refuse," her eyes read his face. They must have seen the concern. It wasn't hard to miss. "I'll be fine," she refrained from calling him anything at all. "Sir" was impossible, it would illustrate that nothing had changed when everything had changed. It would make her words a lie, but she couldn't call him "Roy", either. Then, if she truly died, she wouldn't be able to forgive herself.

Roy couldn't think of anything to say. He could have said anything: 'I'll save you, Lieutenant, hold on,' 'I love you, Riza,'…But none of them seemed to reach his lips. In the end, all he said was an echo of what she had said to him when he first left for the front.

"Please don't die."

She smiled weakly at this, "Don't jinx me."

They were silent for a little bit, still dancing, neither sure of how to proceed.

"I will take care of Black Hayate for you," Roy said suddenly, "until you return."

"Thank you," she said, sincerely. "Sir, when I'm gone,"

"You won't be-" he said, confused. Sure, the mission was dangerous, but to be so resigned to the thought of dying scared him a little. She cut him off before he could continue his thoughts.

"I won't be dead," she said quickly, "but when I'm away, you need to do your paperwork. Bradley's just another obstacle we'll have to overcome."

He pursed his lips. Roy had been thinking of that earlier. He couldn't let her continue this, not when it had taken Maes away. She was taken away from him, yes, but not completely. When he thought about it, it could only be a foreshadowing of when she was taken away for good, and he couldn't let that happen.

"I will have to overcome," he corrected her. "You're too close. You might die."

"You could, too. I promised to protect you," it was her turn to be confused.

"I'm trying to protect_ you_." This angered her.

"Don't you dare, Sir." He winced. There was an edge in her voice, stronger than the anxiety that had lurked there before. "I promised to follow you to hell and back. I won't die on you. Not until I fulfill that promise."

There was a weak smile on his face at her stubbornness. This seemed to melt away her anger. "I suppose, then, that asking you to leave military service is-"

"Out of the question." Her eyes narrowed as she saw something in the throng behind him. "Bradley's seen us. We have to separate. Good bye, Colonel."

As she drew away into the crowd, a fading scarlet in a mangled mass of twisting colors, he observed that she had regained her regular composure now that she was under Bradley's watch.

He gritted his teeth. Having no further intention to stay- any further soliciting with his former subordinate would catch the attention of the higher ups- he escaped the ballroom and got into his car, cursing the bastard Bradley and whatever the monster had planned.

_((Stay tuned for the next chapter! In the mean time, reviews are loved.))_


	3. Chapter 3

A set of footsteps reverberated down the hallway in Central Headquarters

_((This chapter is definitely more clear if you read the next, but this one's kind of boring. I'm sorry. I also wrote these chapters at two very different times, but I'm putting them up together to at least minimize the confusion as much as possible.))_

A set of footsteps reverberated down the hallway in Central Headquarters. An echo followed. The original footsteps stopped. The echo died. The original footsteps took up their walk again, only to cease when the echo followed.

Anyone would think that a man of Colonel Mustang's reputation would have found some other way to amuse himself other than pacing down an empty hall. It was late at night, and the colonel's date had cancelled. Three days had passed since Lt. Hawkeye's deployment, and Bradley had been sure to keep them away from each other ever since the masquerade. Roy had always hated paperwork- that was a well known fact amongst his motley crew. Paper work serving no purpose other than to specifically keep him busy- that just pissed him off. But the Furher had declared those papers of the utmost significance, and the Flame Alchemist would have lost his job if he had used the forms for fuel.

When Hawkeye had been transferred to Bradley's office, he still feared that should he slack off, she would spontaneously visit and reprimand him, most likely through the use of bullets. But with her officially a few hundred miles away, there was little to no motivation for him to even show up at work. However, her absence also left him without motivation to procrastinate. Without Hawkeye, or any of his team for that matter, he was utterly alone. Fullmetal and Alphonse were even appearing less and less. Seeing his subordinates was probably the main reason they came anyway. Now that they were gone…

But Riza was gone forever. He had gotten the news early that morning. Now he remembered that wave of rage that swept through him, instantly blaming the higher ups for sending her needlessly, for sending any troops at all when that massacre had ended. But it hadn't, not officially. Scar was proof enough of that. But without Hawkeye under his watch, Bradley had pretty much lost his power to Roy. But so had everything else in life. Nothing held the man above ground and not six feet under, save a promise he made to Maes that he wouldn't kill himself. He cursed that promise numerous times.

But now he was resigned. Roy was determined to destroy Wrath and his inhuman brethren, now that they had taken both Maes and Riza from him. But the pangs for revenge were only glancing blows in his heart, and rage had only throbbed for a few hours. Now he was completely numb. The Furher had travelled to the West on business as part of a new campaign to reform trading policies. That left Colonel Mustang, Riza Hawkeye's former commanding officer, to come to Ishbal to make a verified identification of the body. Roy had originally thought, upon first hearing of Riza's death, that she had been intentionally killed off by the homunculi. They had already demonstrated that they had control over Ishbal, and killing off his Lieutenant in an area with such violent and spontaneous uprisings would fall under plausible causes. But it didn't really make any sense. Riza was their hostage. Why kill her off if unless they had something else in store?

This entire time he had kept up walking and stopping and walking again. His military issue boots clicked smartly off the polished stone floor, resonating coldly down the corridor. But to him, the cheerful chipping in of the echo, the shadow of sound, was by far the most amazing thing in the world. It reminded him of times before Riza's transfer, when she would follow close behind him. The echo, if only for a few seconds at a time before it died out, was very real to him.

But to the curious Brosh and concerned Ross, lurking just beyond the sharp curve in the passage about six meters away from his strange pacing, his continuous and seemingly pointless motions were just an antic to annoy the higher-ups. It was something he would do to punish them for keeping him so late with paperwork. Normally, any amount of paperwork would have kept him this late, but even other officers noticed his unusually large workload this past week or so.

Brosh commented on this to Ross, whispering. Roy couldn't hear them, so strained were his ears on his echo. He probably wouldn't have cared if he did. The Colonel was just killing time before his train to Ishbal was scheduled to pull in and board. He hadn't wanted to go home, there were too many memories. He didn't want to tempt himself with death for fear he would break his promise.

So he continued pacing the same stretch of hallway in the almost deserted Central Headquarters, childishly pursuing this faint illusion created by the mere echo of his own footsteps. No matter how much he thought, no matter how much he fought reality, to Brosh and Ross around the corner, he'd still be just a man in an empty hall.


	4. Chapter 4

((This chapter's rather morbid

_((This chapter's rather morbid. Once again, be warned.))_

Hawkeye never got a chance to fight back. She had been fulfilling her final duties before packing up when it happened. It was that demon child, she knew. The last face her amber eyes saw before they grew misty was that young, pale countenance of the boy, his features twisted in a wicked grin.

She had just deposited a stack of files on the Furher's desk. Behind her, one of Selim's snake-like shadow extensions was twisted around a syringe of a yellow liquid. She had sensed that soulless hatred, but she had grown accustomed to it. She knew he was watching her wherever she went, and she could not risk showing her fear. But he had known anyway- there was nothing he didn't. The shadow came from the ceiling behind her and injected the liquid into her neck. It was a paralytic. It took a single second to take effect due to its injection point, and all she could do was moan as she collapsed. She knew she wasn't dead. She could hear Selim's laughter as her hearing grew muffled, the peals of sinister laughter becoming nothing but irritating spasms of unintelligible sound.

She was shipped to Ishbal in a box. To preserve her while the plan was being set up, Selim placed a shard of his own Philospher's Stone in her wrist. She couldn't die now; he had bigger plans in store for her.

Pride had been plotting her death ever since she had refused his offer to work for him and the others, ever since she had slighted him. Wrath could have cared less what happened to her. He remarked that it was a pity to waste such a good soldier, but if it was for the fall of Mustang, for the breaking of that spirit that hindered their overall plan, it was by all means necessary.

She was in a coma-like state. She didn't have to breathe, and her chest did not rise or fall- her heart only underwent faint phantoms of heartbeats. Her skin grew cold, and her body grew stiff only from staying unmoved for long periods of time. Her blood didn't pool. One would have thought she was only sleeping. In a sense, they'd be correct. There was only six days for the paralytic to operate before her body "woke up" and began to function again. By that time, they hoped she would be in a coffin already. They knew her death would shake Mustang. The fact that she was dying right in front of him, perhaps while he even stood there at her grave, would break him completely.

Of course, Envy had to be called into the plan. They needed a coroner to verify her death. It was an easy matter to fake the records. Riza Hawkeye was registered as killed in battle. Envy was absolutely delighted to help contribute to this image by scratching and bruising the comatose lieutenant. The next step was to call in a witness to come identify the body. "She had kept to herself," said Envy on the phone, "and she wasn't officially assigned a squadron before she died. Could someone from Central come to make a clear identification?"

The Furher was her current commanding officer, but he had more urgent affairs to attend to, or so he said. Pride had actually gone to Ishbal with Envy and Hawkeye, and was helping Envy in secret. He wanted to see first-hand Roy's reaction to her alleged death. Roy Mustang went, of course, as her former commanding officer, though they knew it was much more.

Pride was upset at first. There wasn't any room to hide in the morgue. He was forced to hide outside in a pile of unidentified skulls, bleached by the sun, haphazardly discarded in hopes that they might match some outdated records some day. The heap was only a few feet from the door, however, so Pride wasn't too disappointed. This was only the first blow to the colonel, not the final.

Having found sanctuary behind the eternal smiles, Pride watched as a sandy Mustang stepped from an overheating truck used for transporting provisions across the front. Such jocund bones obviously caught the colonel's attention. They were almost pearly from the desert sun and there were quite a few of them. The skulls leered at the guilty man. It was very likely that he was the reason they were without proper burial- when he and his flames took part in the massacre, many were burned or crushed by burning buildings so that only the skulls remained.

The sickened look that appeared on the colonel's face was priceless, Pride noted as his own smile was added to those of the dead. In his glee, he shifted a little, accidentally causing the skulls to slide about a little, the brittle bones knocking lightly together. Mustang was opening the door to the morgue at this point, and to him the noise seemed like the skulls were chuckling.

The coroner seemed in good humor, the alchemist observed, but perhaps death was not so serious a matter in his line of work. He murmured a greeting to Mustang, inquiring "who he would like to see". Roy cringed, he would have never wanted to see her there. He would like to see her alive, like she had promised. He answered the man and was given the serial number to Hawkeye's body. Roy was ashamed to be there, to hear her referred to as nothing more than an object taking up a steel slab in the middle of a cold room.

Mustang was almost surprised to see her the way she was. Her eyes were closed lightly- a detail that meant that the coroner or someone else had closed them for her. Her cheeks were pale, but there was still a faint, almost invisible flush of pink along her cheekbones. Her lips were closed, not part of any particular expression. He removed a glove from his hand and brushed her cheek. Her lips were the coldest part of her face, as if they were a steel lock preventing her breath from escaping, a lock keeping her in death.

His face was expressionless, there were too deep emotions to express. He wanted to cry, to curse her and himself. She had promised to return. She had broken her promise to follow him. She had gone and followed Maes instead. All hope in any god, if there had been any in him in the first place, evaporated. No being had any right to take her away.

"Is this Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, sir?" asked the coroner, unmoved.

"Yes." He spoke, his voice level. He wanted to stop breathing. To him it wasn't Riza. Riza lived, she wasn't gone from him. She wasn't dead. But at the same time, he knew she was. That clamor of emotions settled into that nagging numbness, the numbness that had first overtaken him at the start of her death.

"Thank you," the coroner covered her features with a white cloth. Roy wished he hadn't. He still wanted to see that face, closed in what seemed a sleep. He also knew that with the cover officially over her face, Lt. Riza Hawkeye would never wake up.

"What was the cause of death?" He asked tentatively.

"A clot, actually." That way the coroner answered it struck something inside Roy. It was almost as if the doctor was sneering inwardly. This only heightened Roy's confusion. She died of a clot in what could still be called a war zone.

"Explain, please, doctor."

"It was the result of a gas newly introduced to warfare. It was administered by a rogue group of rebels. She received a rather heavy dose of it when she was in the sniper tower giving a demonstration on dummies planted in the desert, so very few others- mainly the people around the tower- were effected. The Ishbalans seem to have acquired the gas through their trading with Aerugo, and were probably testing it out on what they thought to be the greatest threat. I'm sorry for your loss, Colonel."

The colonel stood there for a moment, calculating the probable truth in the coroner's story. "Everyone is," he replied, allowing himself one last look at the covered body on the table before stepping out of the morgue.

The coroner smiled, the stubble along his chin fading into paler, rounder cheeks as Envy resumed his normal form. He was resentful that he had not come up with this plan himself, but it was fun to be a part of it.

He sank his nails into the cloth covered form on the table, where he knew her wrist to be. "Just a few more days, dear," he said, feigning respect, "then you can truly sleep."

_((Grammar's kind of iffy, I'm sorry. I got called away from the computer a lot both while typing and proofreading.)) _


	5. Chapter 5

((Wow

((Wow. Thank you! This review has probably gotten the most helpful constructive criticism ever. It's very useful, and it's intriguing to know the origin of Hawkeye's tattoo in the real world. I had no idea. Thanks to all my reviewers! Sorry for the delay.))

The weather couldn't decide what to be for her funeral. It snowed late the night before. After the snow had fallen, sleet churned it into slush, continuing into the early hours of the morning, delaying the funeral. Around noon, the sleet had completely died down and had been replaced by weak sunlight.

It was different than it had been before, when Maes died. It was warmer then. There was still the illusion of hope. But with Riza gone, it seemed like the world had frozen over. Colonel Mustang glanced for a moment to his side, using his peripheral vision rather than turning away from Riza's final resting place. Falman was behind him, having been granted temporary leave from Olivier Armstrong's fortress in Mt. Briggs-which was likely to be the greatest achievement of his life. Breda was there as well, looking as if he had lost weight. Fuery stood next to him, holding the leash of Black Hayate. The beast sat at attention, poised and attentive. Riza had raised the dog well. Havoc was in a wheel chair between two other soldiers he didn't recognize, possibly hospital personnel. The Elrics were present as well. Edward stood straight and composed, reminding the rest of the company that he was more a soldier than even he had realized. Had there been a statue commissioned for Hawkeye's grave, passersby would have probably mistaken it for Alphonse. Gracia and Elysia were there as well, though this time the little girl was quiet, possibly too shocked to lament how death had claimed yet another of her family. All of them could have been mistaken for statues, had it not been for the vague shadows of tears rimming their eyes. The only exception would have been Alex Armstrong, who would be more similar to a fountain.

The Führer was dressed in the ornate presidential uniform for dress occasions, "in honor of the late lieutenant". Roy knew it to be mockery of him and his men, of all those that knew. Regardless of what it said on the autopsy report, he knew that the homunculi had something to do with it, if they did not murder her themselves. But Roy was ultimately responsible. It was Roy who had asked her to follow him into Hell. She had shared with him her secret, the tattoo on her back, and he had stabbed it. Now, drowning in guilt and frustration, it was like he too was being stabbed.

The procession began, and the further the coffin went towards the open grave, the further the knife went into him. He looked at the Führer, wondering if it was worth it. Now that Riza was gone and all his men torn from his side, no one would be hurt by him. He could stab the Führer, singe him, set him openly aflame, and bring the truth to light when the leader of Amestris did not die. The Führer looked as agitated as he had at Maes' funeral, though Roy knew better than to believe that it was sorrow that shook him.

Unknown to Roy, the Führer was upset that he had almost been bested by the weather of all things. The paralytic would only have power over the young and strong lieutenant, and Selim himself hadn't renewed the drug in her system. He wanted her to be unrestrained when the deed was done. He wanted her to know that she was buried alive, that she had been beaten.

Roy had killed their queen. They were killing his.

His mouth almost twisted into a smirk. It probably would have had it not been for Lt. Havoc's gallantry. Almost without warning, he raised himself by the arms from his chair. His legs remained completely useless, but he was kept back from falling by the medical personnel flanking him. They tried to quietly ease him back into his chair but the others around him could hear his protests.

After mufflied cries of "I'm standing, dammit!" and "Get off me!" he was allowed his wish. Roy was shaken back into reason by his friend's struggle. To give up would put Riza's death in vain. And he refused to be put to shame by a man whom he knew couldn't keep a girl for more than three days.

The slush proved tricky as the procession grew within feet of the grave. One of the coffin bearers lost his footing, causing a thud sound that sent bile crawling up the back of Roy's throat. At the same time Hayate's ears flicked, as if the dog was incredulous. The Führer's hand strayed to his sword hilt.

Both inhuman creatures had been able to hear Hawkeye's breath catch in her throat. It was too soon.

The black and white dog suddenly wrenched the leash from Fuery's shaking hand as a series of loud barks tore from its mouth. Hayate ran towards the coffin.

The Führer would not let his plans fall apart because of a distracting dog.

He turned his head slowly to a man at his side. "Shoot it."

((I had difficulty with Gracia's point of view here, as I did for a variation of different characters. I was trying to tell it if not in Gracia's then in Havoc's or Alphonse's, but it sounded better this way, so that I can establish some sort of consistency of these two rather loose POV's –Roy + Bradley- in the chapter (s) as this story draws to a close.))


	6. Chapter 6

Riza eased into awareness, groggily and gradually becoming aware. She was in the dark, and she could barely hear voices. Her limbs were stiff, and her throat felt dry. The air was stale as it burned her throat and her lungs. She tried to move her arms to stand up, only to find that they could not go very far. There was some sort of padding obstructing her. She tried pushing on it, tried kicking, but the padding was so thick, it hardly made a sound.

The homunculi had allowed her to be buried in quite an ornate coffin. There was plenty of silk and pillows. There was barely room to move, and there was almost no way anyone outside could hear her.

She heard the barking of a dog outside, another muffled voice: "Shoot it."

Her blood froze. She was closer to this speaker than she was to the others, whatever she was in, she was moving.

The President's guard fired a shot, but Hayate had become rather educated when it came to bullets-which wasn't exactly surprising, considering his owner- and was familiar with the thin scraping sound of a gun being removed from its holster. He began zig-zagging towards the coffin, a shot narrowly missing his back. There was little reaction from the mourners other than more tears. It was like Elysia's futile cries at her father's funeral. Here Black Hayate was thought to be mad or delirious due to his beloved master's death.

Hawkeye tried gasping. It was hard to breathe. Fog was clearing her mind, and her instincts were returning. She managed to move her arm upwards, groping the padding trying to find a hinge of some sort. Her other hand searched for her gun. It wasn't in her holster on her belt. She couldn't feel the holster of the back of her calf. She was growing more frustrated by the moment.

She opened her mouth to scream, but her throat and mouth were weak and still uncomfortably dry. She couldn't manage more than a scratchy cough, faint enough for the noise to be smothered by the decorative silk and pillows.

Tears were falling down Mustang's face, which was lowered now. He could not bring himself to look at her grave anymore, or at Hayate. He had one look at the coffin though, before it was lowered. He could not help but wonder who else would fall victim to his dream, how long it would take him to go down. The colonel hoped it was soon. He was torn between the wish to die, to not face the pain that was sure to splinter his heart every time he thought. He had known Hawkeye almost his entire life, and whenever he wasn't with Hawkeye- in the first years of the war, for example- he had been with Hughes. There were no thoughts to distract him. The dead duo permeated everything. There was no way to escape the guilt.

But taking his life would make their deaths in vain. And to call his dream senseless would be to call their deaths senseless, too, and he would not strip away their dignity as he had their lives. He would not be a coward now that they had proven themselves heroes. The "rain" on his pale cheeks grew unchecked, but still he made no noise.

Ed bit back his lip as he, too, gave in. Alphonse looked down. He couldn't shake, he couldn't cry, but inside the cold armor he could almost feel his soul burning. The younger Elric had no way to release his grief, and he was considering transmuting a small token of memorial after the service. He stood next to his brother, and raised a comforting metal arm on Edward's shoulder before realizing that it would probably give his brother frostbite.

Gracia was sobbing into her kerchief, and Roy felt that knife stabbing at his heart again. Oh, what he would give to have never pulled his friends into this. The widowed Mrs. Hughes couldn't help but be proud of her fallen friend, and of the friends that had supported her. Some might have thought that without Hawkeye to keep him in line, Roy would be even more of a player than before. But it was plain to those who knew him that after the loss of Riza, it would be surprising if he ever actually dated a girl after this. Especially since Colonel Mustang seemed to have personally blamed himself for her death.

She closed her watering eyes. Riza had chosen her path, as had Hughes. But it was cruel of what god there was to have gradually removed the foundation of the man who wanted to change Amestris for the better. Gracia had been devastated by the loss of her husband. She still was. But Gracia had her daughter. Roy had no one, now that the rest of his former company had been moved away from him.

Bradley was visibly trembling. Roy figured that this time it was Black Hayate that was such a "disgrace" to the funeral. It might have been the guard's incompetence, or the fact that no one else in the congregation would take part in the shooting- everyone else had known Riza and wouldn't dare. The only exception would be the medical personnel holding up Havoc, who was trembling himself not from physical exertion- he had been using the dumbbells Breda had given him, just to keep himself from boredom-but from grief and rage-not only Roy was suspicious of the circumstances of her death.

She felt a familiar metal shape by her side, closer to the edge of the padding than to her. One of her comrades must have thought it fitting to have her buried with her gun. Quite possibly Roy, to eliminate the chance of him giving in and killing himself with her own gun, damaging her memory and her dignity. By now she had figured out where she was. Now she remembered feeling the pain of a needle puncture, the slip into unconsciousness, and later the levels below it. Now she could hear open sobbing- Elysia had joined her mother. She was being buried. Very much alive.

Riza wouldn't scream again, it would only waste the oxygen. They would be placing her in the ground soon-it was only so far a walk to her actual burial place. Even without light, she easily checked to see if the gun was loaded. It was, but she had to turn the safety off. After she did this she renewed her search for the hinges.

((DUN DUN DUN! The story's coming to a close. I'm pretty sure next chapter will be the last. I hope you're enjoying it so far. Thanks for all the reviews!))


	7. Chapter 7

Riza began to pound through the plush and silk, the morbid ornaments of her prison. With one hand she gripped her gun, worried that should it slip from her hand, she wouldn't be able to find it again in the darkness. Outside, the ground was muddy and slick with slush. She could feel the force of the coffin bearers' resolute procession as they slightly swung her to and fro as they strode more slowly but strongly. It was like being churned in a dark, sick sea.

The Fuhrer's secretary could hear what was going on outside more clearly, her mind no longer nebulous with the paralytic. She was smacking the sides of the coffin, not to convey force but to feel the odd shape of the hinges. She began to kick, just to make noise, but it was muffled in the cloth and the faint fragments of sound that survived were strangled by the sobs of the mourners.

Hawkeye cringed a little as she felt the sparks of panic in her mind. She was actually doing to die. The woman pounded her fist against the coffin one last time, only to be brought out of her despair by pain as she cut her clenched finger. Confused, she reached up and felt the paneling at an awkward angle behind her head. It was the hinge.

_She had cut her hand on the hinge._

Outside, her grandfather walked sadly forward to the front of the grieving congregation, and to the left of the open grave, gaping as still the procession lingered through the treacherous winter ground.

He cleared his throat in an endeavor to clear away lingering, burning tears. Grumman was crushed by his granddaughter's death. His eccentric, welcoming mien had dissolved, leaving behind the haggard shell of an old, unfortunate man. He coughed as he began the Lieutenant's eulogy.

"Lieutenant Elizabeth Hawkeye," unlike Hughes, Riza had not been promoted in death, "or Riza, as her friends and family called her, was a rose among rocks. The model soldier, she never shied away from a mission, and excelled in all endeavors. She was…"

he turned toward the coffin, suppressing a choked sob as the coffin bearers lowered it in the grave.

Riza closed her eyes. Even with them open, she could see nothing. She had no doubt her bullet would hit its mark, but she also knew that the projectile was likely to ricochet and hit her as well.

Grumman had continued with his eulogy, and though he was still talking, his gaze at Roy openly offered the chance for the Colonel to speak. Roy looked up, his eyes catching, memorizing every last moment of Riza's presence above the ground.

"…And she never, ever gave up." The elderly man's word was punctuated by a sharp, staccato snap as metal tore through the hinge and splintered some paneling. One of the coffin bearers, in shock, slipped in the mud going forward, and another two tumbled too. The coffin fell to the ground and slid down the open maw of earth into the grave, where its final fall sent the coffin's lid ajar and exposing to the winter air the sobs of relief from the coffin's occupant.

All hell broke loose in the previously disciplined ranks as the gunshot's echo still lingered in the frosty air. Gracia grew pale and fainted, Havoc fell back into his chair, Hayate-surprisingly still alive- ran towards the hole as Fuery chased after him, and the Fuhrer trembled in absolute fury.

"Riza!" Roy was the first to the grave, tearing away at the splintered wood with hope and determination clearly visible in his features. He had seen her dead. Was there a god after all? Was this a homunculus of some sort? He removed a pillow that Hawkeye had used to cover her face against the splinters, and all doubt evaporated as he gazed into the tearful red brown eyes. He was breathless from calling her name, but still he kept moving.

There she was, the angel that refused to go. Her face was pallid and cold to the touch, but she was sweating from the exertion of her escape, and her eyes were glassy with unshed tears. He reached down and pulled her into a sitting position, ready to help her out of the coffin. Roy still had tears on his face, but they were of joy now. Perhaps there was a God that had heard his pleas, perhaps the fates had had a change of heart.

Above him, on ground level, he could hear people calling out. Cries for ambulances and police, cries to God at this miraculously averted disaster, and just cries in general rang out. His eyes never left her face as she embraced him, still shuddering. The cold, fresh air had eaten away the rest of her cold resolve, and now that she was at least temporarily safe she opened the floodgates to emotion. As he held her, she began to speak, a raw whisper that only he could hear. "I love you," she was saying, the dark experience delivering the words from her lips with the realization that it was important for him to hear, to know, in case she should truly die soon. "I love you, Roy."

The words broke Roy's heart and mended it at the same time. The fact that she was alive was reason enough to rejoice. He had, only moments ago, been contemplating suicide. Now he thought himself the happiest soul in the world. He would kiss her lips if it didn't deprive them of the fresh air her lungs thirsted for. The man breathed into her hair and felt the dampness of her tears on his dress uniform's coat, and startled felt a different dampness on his arm.

With horror he held her arm in his hands, gently as if handling some precious treasure. Riza had been right to assume ricochet would occur. The bullet had come through her left arm, probably fracturing her radius. Mentally he swore, in his overwhelming joy he had overlooked the need to get her to a hospital. Without a word, he lifted her off the ground, noting with chagrin how light she was-she must be starving.

Others began to help lift the lieutenant from her early grave, thanks and words of disbelief still forming a cacophony of sound. Still, it was Roy who led her to the car. The ambulance hadn't arrived yet, and in a military vehicle they'd go as fast anyway. She was still trembling as he half walked, half carried her down the path. He began to shake too, with both relief and rage. As they passed he could hear the Fuhrer addressing the congregation, and calming an overjoyed Armstrong in particular.

"Yes, it truly is a relief that such a mistake was discovered in time. We are very fortunate…"

Fuery was running up behind them, childish joy absolutely beaming from his face, while he chased after Hayate. He opened the door for Roy to help Riza into the back seat.

He sat in the driver's seat in the front, and began to close the windows.

"Wait!" she croaked, faintly. "Please, leave them open."

Her cold hand grasped the back of his seat, and he understood her lust for fresh air.

He obliged, and removed the gloves from his hands before returning one of them to the steering wheel. He reached the other behind him to hold hers, but she pulled away.

Startled and confused, he turned. "I love you, too, Riza," he said gently, happily.

"Will you let me hold you hand?"

She smiled, her face displaying her own glorious joy. "I know, sir."

Hawkeye leaned back, having returned to her logical self. Her voice was kind, "I just escaped from death, Colonel, let's not tempt it by having you drive with one hand."

His smile mirrored hers and he chuckled. "I've missed you."

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(( I hope you liked it. I'm sorry it was so late in coming. Feel free to leave a review or PM me))


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